Matteo stood in the hallway, expression blank as always, but his mind raced. The message had come early that morning, coded in a simple envelope placed beneath his door.
Only a few words written inside. Confirm. Proof. No mistakes.
He didn't need a name. He knew who they meant.
Isabella.
He adjusted his jacket, hands slipping into his pockets. This wasn't a typical assignment. Vance's paranoia was rising, and when he got like this, people disappeared.
Matteo wasn't eager to join them. Still, the order was clear—find out if Isabella was pregnant, get evidence, and report back.
But how do you confirm something a woman hides so carefully?
He glanced toward the west wing. She rarely left her room now, only appearing for meals or when summoned. Rosa guarded her like a hawk. Matteo wasn't stupid enough to barge in, not without backup. He'd have to be patient.
Later that afternoon, while walking through the garden near the fountain, he spotted Isabella in the distance. Her hand rested gently on her abdomen, just for a second, before she dropped it quickly when she noticed someone watching.
That was something. Not proof, but close.
Across the grounds, Karl stepped out of the mansion, running a hand through his dark hair. His face was hard, distracted. For days he had tried to ignore it, but the cold silence from Isabella was starting to cut deeper than he wanted to admit.
He hadn't seen her since that night by the stairs, when she looked at him like he was a stranger.
Today, he told himself, today he'd speak to her. He caught sight of her near the flower path, heading back toward the east corridor. He moved quickly, falling into step beside her.
"Isabella," he said softly.
She stopped, lips pressed tightly, eyes scanning the path. "Karl," she answered with caution, "we shouldn't be seen talking."
"I need a minute. Please."
She didn't respond right away, but her gaze shifted toward the garden wall. Matteo stood at the far end, pretending to inspect a patch of roses.
"Make it quick," she muttered and turned to face him.
Karl drew in a slow breath. "I know something's wrong. You've been distant, withdrawn. Is it Vance? Did he say something?"
She tilted her head, a bitter laugh caught in her throat. "You care now?"
"I never stopped caring."
She looked down at the grass beneath her shoes, then up at him. "That night... it was a mistake."
His heart clenched. "You don't mean that."
"Yes," she said, voice sharp. "I do. I was vulnerable. Confused. I should never have let it happen."
"But it did," he said, stepping closer. "And I can't forget it."
"You have to," she said. "I belong to Vance. Whatever you think happened that night, it meant nothing. Just a moment of weakness."
Karl's jaw tightened. "Don't say that. I know you felt something."
She laughed again, this time hollow. "What I felt doesn't matter. What matters is survival. You think I can choose love in a place like this?"
"You don't have to lie to me."
"I'm not lying," she snapped. "I'm reminding you of the truth. I'm his. If you care about me at all, you'll keep your distance. Stop talking to me. Stop looking at me like I'm yours." He stood still, struggling to swallow the ache that built in his chest. Isabella lowered her voice. "We both know what Vance is capable of. If he finds out...
She paused, choosing her words carefully. "If he finds out we had anything, he'll destroy you."
He blinked. "You're scared."
"I'm protecting you," she said, then turned away.
Karl watched her walk back inside, her posture stiff, her hand brushing her stomach again when she thought no one could see.
Matteo, still by the roses, had seen it.
Later that evening, he stood in his room, scribbling something in a notebook. A line of details. Time. Location. Expression. Gesture. It wasn't proof, but it was building.
He closed the notebook and pulled out his phone. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the keypad.
Should he report?
Or should he wait?
Across the mansion, Isabella sat on the edge of her bed, heart pounding. Her stomach churned, not from nausea, but guilt. Every word she said to Karl tore a hole inside her. But it was better this way. Safer.
She couldn't afford distractions. Not now.
Not when her body was changing more each day. Her reflection already hinted at a secret she couldn't hide much longer.
As she curled into the pillow, trying to sleep, one thought echoed in her mind.
How much longer before everything fell apart?